


Crooked: Back Stories.

by AmandaHuffleduck



Series: Crooked [1]
Category: Australian Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, hiddlesworth - Fandom
Genre: Child Neglect, Childhood Trauma, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-25 16:55:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6203356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmandaHuffleduck/pseuds/AmandaHuffleduck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/inanesanity/pseuds/inanesanity">inanesanity</a> said in a comment: <i>'I would love to learn more about Chris's childhood. Like a never ending series of oneshots on Chris (and Tom) and their childhoods, transforming them into the men they are today.'</i></p>
<p>So of course I thought about it. And then this happened.<br/>Fair warning, it's likely to be even more sporadic than the main fic.</p>
<p>Let me know if there's any particular 'event' you'd like to explore with me, and I'll add it to the time line.</p>
<p>Tags added as necessary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crooked: Back Stories.

**Author's Note:**

> Chris has a very bad start, (but it gets _so much_ better for him).

They were doing it again – Chris glowered at the two grownups standing guard at the door – talking to each other without using words. He wasn’t _stupid_ , he could tell when they were doing it. It was rude and _creepy_ , and he _wanted to go home_.

“Chris, drink your orange juice.” The nurse frowned at him, close to the end of her patience. “Do you want some water instead?” Her frown deepened to a scowl when he shook his head. “You have to drink _something_.”

He shook his head again, crossing his thin arms over his chest for good measure, though that was as much to stop himself reaching for the drink as anything else. He was so, so thirsty but he knew better than to drink from an open glass. He clenched his fists tight against the sudden urge to throw the glass against the wall: he also knew better than to show anger, or make a mess.

“If you don’t drink on your own we’ll have to put you on a drip.” Her displeasure with him prickled over his skin. “Do you know what that is? It’s a big needle in the back of your hand, attached by a tube to a bag of water. Do you want that?” 

Chris glared at her, refusing to answer. The idea was terrifying but he would risk the consequences of fighting back if they tried anything like -

“Okay, Chris, the doctor’s on his way to see you.”

The other adult, the social worker, smiled when he spoke but he wasn’t happy with Chris either. 

... _Don’t be a pain in the arse, you little shit, you’ll make me angry_...

Chris blinked away the memory voice, struggling to focus on the present threats. He gulped in air: he couldn’t... he wasn’t... 

“Chris, are you all right?” The nurse’s concern washed over him like cool water but he still flinched away from her hand. “Just breathe, sweetheart, slow and steady, okay?”

She didn’t try to touch him again, squatting instead so he was forced to look down at her from his perch on the hospital bed. 

“Breathe with me, now. Breathe in – _one, two, three_ – and out – _one, two, three_...”

He didn’t like her, or trust her, but he was used to doing what he was told so people wouldn’t get mad at him, and this breathing thing seemed to be working. He calmed down, slowly, but quicker than usual. He’d remember that trick. 

“Ah, Dr Tucker, hello.” The social worker was greeting the large, bearded man standing in the doorway.

Chris was instantly suspicious – the nurse had turned to the doctor and was doing the creepy no voice thing again – until he held up his hand and said:

“Out loud, please.”

The nurse pursed her lips a little and Chris couldn’t work out why she was annoyed.

“Dr Tucker, this is Chris Hemsworth. He’s eight years old. He’s underweight, dehydrated and borderline malnourished. He’s refusing to eat or drink.”

The man approached Chris slowly, but not slow like he was being careful, slow like he was in no hurry. 

“Good morning, Chris.” He smiled - Chris tensed automatically - and indicated the hard plastic chair by the bed. “Can I sit down?”

The boy nodded, wary but... The doctor was the calmest person Chris had ever met, there was no sparking or prickles or itches – 

“How do you do that?” He blurted out.

“How do I do what?” Dr Tucker had pulled up the chair but wasn’t sitting too close.

“You’re not...” Chris’ hands were clutched together high up on his chest, something he knew he did when he was anxious or unsure but couldn’t seem to stop doing. “How are you not... I can’t feel what you’re...”

He struggled to put in to words something he’d never tried to articulate, let alone tell anyone about. The Doctor was giving him a thoughtful look. 

“Can I ask you a question, Chris?” He waited for his nod before continuing. “Can you tell how someone is feeling?”

Chris nodded again, his hands gripping together so tight his overlong nails were digging in to his skin. 

“An empath.” The nurse sighed. Her emotions were all mixed up but Chris could only just sense her, he realised, somehow the Doctor’s own calm was like a blanket between them. 

“How are you so... quiet? How do you make things quiet?”

The Doctor smiled and there was the tiniest rainbow flash of something far more complex than happiness.

“That’s because I can tell how people are feeling, too. I can also make people feel what I feel but I don’t want to do that so I’ve learnt to control my emotions. I’ve also learnt how to... block out what other people are feeling.”

Chris knew he was staring, and that that was really rude, but he couldn’t help it.

“How did you learn that?” 

“Someone taught me. Would you like to learn how to do it?”

Chris nodded vigorously: to not have to feel all that? That’d be feckin’ wunnerful. 

“Can you teach me?”

“I can’t, sorry, I’m just a doctor, but there are special teachers who can show you what to do. But right now - ” the look the doctor gave him was serious but friendly, not a ‘you’re in trouble’ look. “ - we have to talk about some important things. Do you know where you are, Chris?”

“’m in the hospital.”

“Do you know why you’re here?”

The boy shook his head.

“Th’ police and him – “ he jerked his chin at the social worker. “ – came and took me away from m’ house.”

“They took you because they were worried that your parents aren’t looking after you properly, and you’re here so I can have a look at you and see how healthy you are.”

“’m healthy.”

“You’re not, not really. You heard Nurse Marnie? You’re underweight, which means you’re much skinnier than a boy your age should be. You’re dehydrated, which means you don’t drink enough, and malnourished, which means you don’t eat enough. Do you have trouble going to the toilet?”

Chris tried to stop himself shrinking back. Yes, Chris had trouble going to the toilet but it was usually after... in the past, before he got smart, _he’d_ give him something to drink or eat, and then he’d go to sleep, and then he’d wake up and he’d hurt, and... and...

The doctor was looking at him with concern.

“It’s okay, Chris. You’re safe.” Dr Tucker’s calm was folding around him, stopping the panic, allowing him to breath. He waited until he was completely quiet before continuing. “This is what I’m going to do today. I’m going to listen to your heart and your chest. I’m going to look at your eyes, and in your ears, and in your mouth. I’m also going to look at the skin on your body and – I’m very sorry but I have to do this – I’m going to have to look at your bottom and your penis. I’ll be as quick as I can and I promise it won’t hurt.”

“Do you have to?” But Chris already knew the answer.

“I’m afraid so.” The doctor’s smile this time was... actually Chris had no word for that expression. It was sort of sad, but determined, but not dangerous. The doctor turned to the nurse. “Nurse Marnie, could you fetch a gown for Chris, please, and a collection kit. Oh, and also some fresh clothes, and an aftercare pack...?”

Chris said he didn’t need help - he didn’t, he’d been looking after himself for ages – but he didn’t entirely trust the adults to believe him. They left him alone though as he undressed as quickly as he could behind the curtain they’d pulled around the bed. He’d been told to put the scratchy white ‘gown’ on with the opening at the back. He was unhappy about how helpless he felt in it. He clambered back up on to the bed.

Dr Tucker waited until Chris said he was ready before he and the nurse came around to the other side of the curtain. Nurse Marnie picked up his clothes and put them in a plastic bag. She checked in his pockets but Chris could’ve told her there was nothing there.

He was very nervous about what the doctor was going to do but was trying very hard not to show it. Dr Tucker seemed to understand though. Out of a green and black striped backpack he pulled a stuffed toy, a luridly blue bunny with long, silly ears. He smiled fondly at the stupid thing, then at Chris.

“I know you’re not a little kid, but it’s all right to be scared and it’s all right to want to hold on to something if you’re scared.” 

He held out the plush toy to Chris... who wasn’t going to take it, honestly, but somehow it ended up in his hand and stuffed tight under his chin. It smelt new and it was so soft.

“That’s yours if you’d like to keep it. You could give it a name.”

“Harold.” Chris whispered.

Dr Tucker beamed.

“That’s an excellent name.”

The doctor was as a good as his word, something Chris had found rare in adults, except maybe his teacher. The examination hadn’t hurt, any of it, but he still had tears rolling down his cheeks when the doctor finished looking at him down there. He’d tensed up when he felt something cold near his bum but Dr Tucker had reassured him again that it wasn’t going to hurt. To his own surprise Chris had believed him.

Dr Tucker thanked Chris for his patience, and told him that he’d done really well... then left him to get dressed alone behind the curtain. The clothes didn’t smell new like Harold, but they were clean. 

No one came to fetch him, even though he was afraid they might ‘cause he was taking so long. Chris hugged Harold tightly, burying his face in the plush as he tried to stop shaking. 

“Dr Tucker, I have some lunch for you.” He heard Nurse Marnie say.

“Oh, lovely, thank you.” Dr Tucker responded, then: “That’s a lot of chips, I don’t think I’ll get through all those on my own... Chris, would you like some chips?”

Chris knew what the doctor was doing – sneakily trying get him to eat – but he wasn’t as angry about it as he could’ve been. He came out from behind the curtain, glanced at the tray of food and lifted a shoulder in a noncommittal sort of shrug, like his tummy wasn’t turning in on itself at the lovely smell. 

He plopped himself down in the empty chair on the other side of the table. Nurse Marnie and the social worker had left the room but he could still see them in the corridor.

“Here you go.” Dr Tucker handed him a brand new bottle of water. 

Chris tried not to be obvious about checking if it was really unopened. It didn’t seem to be, the lid cracked open crisply when he twisted it, and he gulped that down while watching the doctor eat. He didn’t think something had been put in the food but past experience... 

The doctor picked chips up from all over the plate, not avoiding any particular area that Chris could see. Chris picked up a chip from the exact same spot the doctor had: perhaps... perhaps they were safe to eat?

He ate slowly, despite wanting to stuff the food in his mouth as fast as he could. The doctor wordlessly handed him the other bottle of water, and then an apple, which he inspected closely before biting in to it.

“Ah, that was good.” Dr Tucker smiled and leaned back in his chair, patting his big stomach. Chris nodded in agreement. 

“Thank you.” He said in his politest voice.

“You’re very welcome, Chris.” The doctor grinned. “I have to go now, I’m sorry, other patients to see, but Trevor – “ he indicated the social worker, who’d just come back in to the room. “ – will talk to you about what’s going to happen.”

“Can I go ‘ome?” Chris was looking at Dr Tucker but he was also alert to the social worker.

“That depends on a number of things, Chris, but if you do it probably won’t be for a while.”

“I _have_ to go home.” 

He didn’t want to, not really, and he was hoping that Dr Tucker - who said he could feel things from other people too - could tell. But he had to go home, back to... Even if he didn’t want to. Very bad things would happen if he didn’t, he knew this with all of his heart. 

“Not yet, Chris, but I promise you’ll be going somewhere safe, where you’ll be looked after. All right?”

Chris nodded, clasping Harold very tightly to his belly: the conflict between what he knew he had to do, but also knowing that he didn’t want to do that was threatening to overwhelm him.

“It’s going to be strange for a little while...” Dr Tucker did something that Chris didn’t quite catch but suddenly he was giving out lots and lots of comforting feelings, soft and snugly like a warm quilt, like Harold. “But everything is going to be fine.”

Chris, again to his surprise, believed him.


End file.
